


This is It

by msred



Series: Starting Over [19]
Category: Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Engagement, F/M, Fluff, Interviews, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 03:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20753828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: I hate to say that I was hiding, but I was hiding. And then I got his text. 'Come join us.' I didn’t understand. I mean, yeah, I knew what the words meant, but I didn’t understand why he was sending it at that moment. We’d agreed that I wouldn’t be mentioned publicly just yet, so it certainly didn’t make sense for me to ‘join them,' when the other half of 'them' was a reporter for a major national magazine who was there with the expressed intent of asking questions about not only his work, but his life as well.





	This is It

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Yes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545784) by [msred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred). 
  * Inspired by [Dreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19900027) by [msred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred). 

> This one takes place two days after "Yes" and "Dreaming." (I think - hope - that is clear in the story, but I wanted to throw this in just in case you haven't read those other two.)

_ 14 months together (April, Year 3) _

The timing of Brody's going away party had put Chris and me in a small time crunch in regards to travelling to California. He'd had an interview scheduled with _ Esquire _ , a publication that had been quite good to him, and for him, in the past, on the books for a while before we'd changed our plans for him to come out east. So, considering the interview was scheduled to take place Monday evening at his house (he liked bringing interviewers - the ones who were decent humans, anyway - over to lounge in his living room and chat over a few beers rather than sitting across a table somewhere actually feeling like he was in an interview), he decided to push his luck and book tickets for us to head out Monday morning, banking on the three-hour time difference to act as a cushion in case we got off schedule at any point. All things considered, we did okay. We pulled through his front gate two hours before the reporter was set to arrive, dropped our bags in the master bedroom’s walk-in closet to ignore until the next day, and ordered dinner in. By the time the intercom buzzed to let us know the journalist was at the gate, he'd gotten a quick shower to refresh himself for the conversation and I'd put away the remnants of dinner and tucked myself away in his office with a book. 

I hate to say that I was hiding, but I was hiding. The movie we’d worked on together had forgone the traditional Hollywood premiere, instead opening on base at Langley on the one year anniversary of the events the movie was based on (which happened to be just a week after Chris and I had moved from friends firmly into the “something more” territory in D.C.), where they'd rolled out a blue carpet on the flightline and shown the film in one of the hangars. There had been a few pictures of the two of us together, of course, but they had mostly been explained away based on who I was in relation to the movie. Chris is such a warm, affectionate person anyway that pictures of him with his arm around a co-worker at an event don’t tend to raise eyebrows. The fact that I was the widow of the real man he was playing probably made it even less of a reason to speculate about what may or may not have been happening between us - both because that provided a very easy explanation for our connection and because, like me in the beginning, people just wouldn't have expected us to form that kind of relationship. There was, of course, about a day’s worth of speculation among some of his more  _ active  _ fans on Twitter, but it was nothing that anyone took seriously.

We’d talked on the plane about how much things would change for me once we were married, and I was okay with that. I didn’t love the idea of becoming celebrity gossip fodder, of course, but the payoff of being his wife was well worth the cost. Besides, while we’d gone out of our way to keep things quiet up to that point - not that it was hard, with me being essentially completely unknown and almost all of our time together being spent in my rather insignificant (in movie-making terms) hometown - Chris easily acknowledged that a big part of the reason he hadn’t wanted me thrust into the spotlight up to that point was because he wasn’t actually around a lot of the time and he didn’t want me dealing with that on my own. But once we were married, a lot of that would change. There would be times that he was working, of course, but overall, I’d have him as my support system not only mentally and emotionally, like I had for the past year and a half or so, but physically as well. He never implied that I couldn't take care of myself when he wasn't around, but I knew that he hated the idea of something happening and him not being there with me. That being said, we didn’t see any point in rushing to get the news out there, especially when it wasn’t entirely unrealistic that we could actually make it all the way to the wedding without anyone thinking twice about me (meaning, of course, that we could have a wedding that was about  _ us  _ and not the media). So, knowing that a reporter for a major national magazine was coming over with the expressed intent of asking questions about not only his work, but his life as well, I happily volunteered to stay out of sight for the duration of the interview.

So that’s how it went for the first two hours or so. And then I got his text.  _ Come join us. _ I didn’t understand. I mean, yeah, I knew what the words meant, but I didn’t understand why he was sending it at that moment. We’d agreed that I wouldn’t be mentioned just yet, so it certainly didn’t make sense for me to ‘join them.' At the same time, I trusted him implicitly, so I tucked my phone into my book to hold my place and set both on his desk before making my way as quietly as possible just to the end of the hall so that I could see the back of the interviewer’s head where she sat in the armchair and his profile at the end of the couch. I leaned against the wall, making myself as small as possible, while I waited for him to notice me. Finally, he set his beer on the end table at his elbow and turned to look for me over his shoulder.

“Come on, Bashful, you don’t need to hide in the hallway.”

“I just … is everything okay?” I took a couple timid steps into the room.

“Yeah, it’s great.” He stood off the couch and held out a hand to me. “I just want to introduce you to someone. This is Ms. Greene.”

“And you’re in the Iran movie!” Ms. Green jumped out of the chair and thrust her right hand in my direction as I rounded the end of the couch to stand at Chris’s side.

I smiled as I shook her hand. For some reason she seemed really excited to see me, which wasn’t something I was used to outside of my students. “Yep, that’s me.” As soon as she dropped my hand, Chris wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side, dropping a kiss onto the top of my head.

“And you two are …” she trailed off, eyes wide, “oh my god. Tell me you’re not like, secretly married. Or maybe tell me you are?”

“We’re not.” Chris laughed and I turned to press my face almost into his armpit. “But that may or may not still be true by the time your story runs.”

“Oh my god, seriously? I was joking, because of the movie, and the way gossip and rumors spread like wildfire based on next to nothing and … seriously?”

Chris laughed and I couldn't make eye contact with her with a straight face, so I stayed with my face turned in to him. “Seriously. Also," he pursed his lips and dropped his head back to face straight up at the ceiling then looked at me with a wicked grin before turning back to her, "it definitely won’t still be true.”

“Is there, have you set a date, if it’s okay to ask that?”

“Umm,” he looked down at me, “we’ve set a date range? I guess?” I shrugged and nodded. “My birthday is June 13th and hers is the 16th, so between there seemed like a really good time. It’ll be a weeknight, but,” he lifted one shoulder, the one not attached to the arm that was still wrapped around me, and tilted his head in that direction, “we’re not planning anything extravagant, so it should be fine.”

Ms. Greene’s eyes grew even wider and she actually clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Wow - I - congratulations!” She held both hands out to us, palms up, then brought them to her mouth. 

Chris rubbed a hand up and down my arm and laughed, big and bubbly. “Thank you.” He sat back on the couch, pulling me down with him, and the reporter followed our lead and sank back into her chair. "Oh!" He was so loud she and I both jumped, "You're the first person we've actually  _ told. _ Together and in person, anyway!" Technically  _ we  _ didn’t tell her either, he did, but I couldn't help but laugh over how happy he was; his joy was infectious. Besides, the realization made me happy, too, even if the way he expressed it was slightly inaccurate.

“So ... you’re actually going to let me ask about this?” She was practically vibrating in her chair.

Chris took a long draw from his beer then set it back on the end table before responding to her. “You’re going to hold up your end of the deal?”

“Absolutely.”

“Wait, what deal?” I was completely out of the loop, and I wasn’t upset, or offended, exactly, but I did feel like I had a right to know what they were talking about.

He brought his hand from my arm up to the top of my head and let his fingers drift over my hair. “She gets the story no one else gets, and she guarantees that none of it - none of  _ this _ - gets published or previewed before the July issue of the magazine officially drops in late June.” He turned back to her, “Right?”

“One-hundred percent.”

“Then ask away. About this, her, us. But, one more condition. She stays.”

“I - that’s even better.” 

“Alright then. Let’s do this shit.” He slapped his free hand on his thigh then reached back over for his beer, probably more to keep his hands busy than for any other reason, offering it silently to me before taking a drink when I declined his offer. “Go back to the question you asked right before we started negotiating.”

“Okay … So, Mr. Evans, about five years ago my associate talked to you - thank you for not making me jump out of an airplane, by the way,” she widened her eyes and darted them over to me, shaking her head slightly, and Chris only dropped his head to look down into his lap, probably remembering our middle-of-the-night conversation hours after he’d proposed, “and you said that you tended to date actresses because it was hard for someone outside the business to be okay with sending their significant other off for months at a time to work. Do you still feel that way?”

He took a long, deep breath then brought his hand from the top of my head to the top of my thigh, palm up. He didn’t begin answering the question until I fitted my fingers between his. “I like to think that I’ve grown over time. And part of that - I had some pretty myopic thinking, about a lot of things, in the past. I can’t even say ‘When I was young,’ because it wasn’t even that long ago, but I try to take every chance I can to grow, to not stop learning ways to be a better, more thoughtful person. This is one of those areas where I  _ think  _ I’ve grown.” He fidgeted a little on the couch cushion, resituating himself until his back was pressed into the corner where the arm met the back cushions and the lower half of his leg pressed against mine. “It was closed-minded of me to think that the only people with the ability to be understanding of my situation were people in the same situation. I underestimated the human capacity for empathy.” He squeezed my hand. “She opened my mind. I mean, Jesus, how egotistical of me to think that poor little Hollywood actors have some unique struggle when it comes to being separated from their loved ones, when there are hundreds or even thousands of men and women out there every day not only leaving behind the people they love, but doing it in order to put their lives on the line to fight for people like you and me. And those people they leave behind, God, how strong are they? How selfless?”

He looked over at me as he finished talking, eyes soft, and Ms. Greene waited. After several seconds she seemed to decide that he wasn’t going to look back her way, though, because she finally just went on with her next question. I at least didn’t get the impression that she thought he was being rude, so that was a relief.

“And, you alluded to this already, but that thinking was influenced by your relationship with the woman next to you?”

“Well, yeah,” he finally turned back to her, “but it’s not even just our relationship. I saw that strength well before there was a relationship, when we were friends, or even just colleagues. Especially as colleagues, actually, considering what we were working on together. And I’d be saying the same thing right now even if she wasn’t crazy enough to still be putting up with me two years later.” He laughed and it was infectious, spreading to both the journalist and me.

Once she finished laughing quietly, Ms. Greene went on. “So speaking of your relationship, how did you two get from there, working together on the movie, to here, on your couch? I’m guessing, under the circumstances, that it wasn’t love at first sight.”

Chris turned and looked over at me, reaching blindly for the beer bottle that he seemed to have forgotten he’d all but emptied a few minutes earlier. He lifted both eyebrows and said nothing, clearly waiting for me to respond instead.

“Okay, um,” I pulled both feet up onto the couch and tucked them under my legs, crossing them at the ankles, “well, no. It definitely wasn’t love at first sight. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’d been my celebrity crush for years.”

“ _ Captain America _ ?”

“Oh goodness, longer than that.”

“ _ Fantastic Four _ ?”

“Yeah.” I hesitated for a split second, knowing I was getting ready to tell on myself, “And  _ Cellular. _ ”

“Oh wow, going deep into the filmography.”

“Yep. I’m telling you, big, big celebrity crush.” I felt my cheeks burning. It wasn’t like Chris didn’t know this, but we also didn’t really talk about it. I went on quickly. “But when I actually met him, I mean, obviously that was the farthest thing from my mind, under the circumstances.” He squeezed my hand again, reminding me he was there with me, for me. “I was thrilled it was him doing the role, because it gave me a lot of confidence that it would be done well, but that was as far as it went. Then, over time, we became friends, and he’s an  _ amazing  _ friend. Like, he kind of became my best friend pretty much right away, and it just … grew from there. It was a slow start, which was all on me, and which he was so considerate of,” I added those last two bits quickly. I didn’t think he was worried at all about his own image in that respect, but I still wanted to be very clear about how things had happened, mostly because he’d been so incredible, so respectful, and I didn’t want to leave any room for doubt about that, “But once we were on the same page and moving forward together, it just kind of took off, full speed ahead. Not physically, necessarily,” I was starting to overthink what I was saying and I almost wished he’d cut me off, but he only rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand and I kept rambling, “and I can only speak for myself, not for him, but emotionally, once I was in, I was all in. And, like I said, I can’t speak to what was in his head, but I felt safe, secure. I felt like I wasn’t in it alone.” That time  _ I  _ squeezed  _ his  _ hand.

“Chris, what about you? Did you mirror your lovely girlf-” she stopped herself, grinning over at us, “ _ fiance’s  _ ‘friends but maybe someday, something more,’ journey, or was it love at first sight?”

“Well, not love at first sight, exactly, because I knew going in what she’d been through, recently, before that first time I met her.” He kept his eyes on her, but his thumb continued to drift over my knuckles as he talked. “I went into that meeting with a purely professional mindset. But I’d be giving myself way too much credit if I said that I thought, ‘maybe someday,’ then sat back and waited patiently for something to happen.”

“Oh yeah?” She tilted her head to one side.   


“Yeah, I mean, like I said, not love at first sight, exactly, but there was definitely  _ something  _ that first day. I looked at this girl, this woman,” he looked at me then, too, and grinned, just a little, the corners of his mouth barely lifting but his eyes narrowing and those telltale crinkles appearing at the outer edges, “and she was smart, and funny, and so obviously dedicated and hard-working and passionate about things. And gorgeous, to boot.” He widened his eyes for just a split second then wiggled his eyebrows before going back to being serious and sincere. “So yeah, there was something there, on my end, from day one. I tried not to push, because I wanted to respect her and the fact that a romantic relationship just was not on her radar at that time, but I had no plans to go anywhere. I loved being her friend, and also I wanted to be around once she  _ was  _ ready for something more so I could have a chance to find out if she would consider going down that road with me. And if not, that was fine, and I’d be her friend forever, no matter what, if she’d have me, but I wasn’t going to lose my chance at  _ this _ just because of, I don't know, inaction.” He finished and when he looked over at me again, seemingly to evaluate my response to his answer, my jaw was slack and my eyebrows were furrowed. “And  _ why  _ are you looking at me like that?”

“I … you … how  _ exactly _ do you remember that first meeting?” There’s no way he could have remembered it the way I did - awkward and bumbling and downright embarrassing, on my part - if that’s how he felt about it.

“Uh, well, Favreau and I came to your school to talk about the movie. We met in your classroom, and it was really cozy, and there were pictures of your kids everywhere, and student artwork all around your desk.” My cheeks burned as I thought about the fact that some of that artwork included student-created images of him.

“Okay. What do you remember about  _ me _ ?”

“Is this a quiz, Doc?” He jostled my knee with his. “You met us at the door in that polka dot dress I love, but you had that hoodie on over it that’s so big on you it comes down past your hips, and your hair was all piled up on top of your head.” His free hand waved over his head. “I specifically remember that part because the pencil you had holding it up there almost stabbed me when I hugged you hello.” Ms. Greene laughed, a laugh full of recognition that told me she’d most likely done the same thing on occasion. “I remember thinking it was dangerous as hell, but also pretty fuckin’ impressive that you were able to do that with a pencil. Annnnd,” he lowered his head, looking up at me through his lashes. “I remember thinking you were damn beautiful. And you were so much stronger than I expected. Not that I expected you to be weak, but the way you talked about the movie and your feedback on the script, you were so steady and confident, even though I know that had to be hard as hell for you.”

My heart beat more heavily than usual as I continued to gape back at him. I was surprised that he remembered all that about our first meeting. I was even more surprised he’d felt that way in the first place.. “Chris - I was a mess that day. In every possible way.”

“I didn’t get that.” He shook his head then let his voice drop a little. “In any possible way.”

Ms. Greene cleared her throat quietly on the other side of the room. I jumped a little, startled by a sound coming from outside my little ‘Chris-bubble,’ but pulled my eyes from him to her slowly. “Okay, I’m going to be really unprofessional here for a second. You two are so cute I want to hate you.”

Chris finally dragged his eyes from my face back over to her, looking shameful but not actually apologetic. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” she shook her head, eyes wide. “I actually can’t hate you, because even though you’re sickeningly adorable, you’re somehow also really likeable. It’s not fair, really.” She laughed quietly and I couldn’t help but smile back. “Okay, well, I won't stay on this topic too long, because I've got two hours of material already, and while I, personally, would be happy to write the whole story about just you two, I think my editor would disagree. With your movie out for about a year now, a second in the pike, and a third starting up here in just a few months, I might lose my job if I  _ only  _ write about the personal stuff.” Her shoulders heaved and she let out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “But, if it's okay, I do have one more big question for each of you. ”

"Yeah man, go for it." He waved his free hand toward her in invitation.

"Okay, well, there's no good way to sugarcoat this.” She frowned and darted her eyes over at me before focusing back on him. “Chris, you've been in some pretty high-profile relationships. And a few of them, I'm thinking of three in particular, lasted quite a bit longer than you two have been together so far, yet, none of them ended in marriage. What's different this time?" She looked over at me and mouthed a silent apology. I only shrugged and offered a small smile in return. She was only doing her job, and, if we were giving her license to ask about  _ us _ , the question was only fair.

“Yeah, no, you’ve got a point. Umm, the thing is, I have nothing bad to say about any of my past relationships.” He got a little fidgety, bouncing our joined hands just slightly on my thigh. “I mean, obviously, they all ended, but good things came out of all of them. I grew, I learned things, I’ve gained something out of every relationship I’ve ever been in. And I,” he squeezed my hand tighter in his, “I have nothing but love and respect for the women I’ve shared those relationships with. And, man, I hope they can say the same thing about me? I don’t know, I don’t want to speak for them. But the thing is, even though all of those relationships were great experiences, both at the time and for me to look back on now and appreciate how they had a hand in shaping me into this person, here, on this couch today, there was never a time in any of them when I thought, ‘ _ This is it. _ ’ And that’s nothing against any of them, it’s just … I wasn’t meant to be married to any of them.”

He stopped and looked over at me, and I’m sure Ms. Greene saw the same confident but humble man the rest of the world always saw, taking a break to reassure his fiance. I knew better. He was checking on me, checking on  _ us. _ We’d had conversations before about his past relationships - we’d been together for over a year and had just gotten engaged, it wouldn’t make sense if we hadn’t talked about them - and he’d always spoken of his exes with the utmost respect. Still, it would be easy for me to be hurt by his comments. I wasn’t. It wasn’t my favorite thing to hear, of course, and my anxieties and insecurities gnawed at me a little harder in the moment, but it didn’t actually upset me. I was able to remind myself that was who he was - kind and respectful and unwilling to say anything negative about anyone who wasn’t a hateful and corrupt politician. And that was a big, big part of why I loved him. So I smiled up at him, I tightened my fingers around his, I leaned over to press my lips against his shoulder, just for a second. He watched me do all those things, then, when I was sitting up straight again, he slipped his hand free from mine and wrapped his arm around my shoulder to pull me in tighter. 

“But this woman. Shit, man. Okay, an example - so last year was our first Christmas together, and she came up to Boston to spend it with me and the whole clan. And I’m sitting there on my mom’s couch, and I’m just watching her. She’s there on the couch with me, like this, watching Christmas movies, or she’s talking theatre with my mom, or she’s on the floor with my niece and nephews, and they  _ love  _ her, and she looks like there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. Or, she and Scott’s boyfriend are off in a corner giggling their asses off whenever some Evans-family inside thing came up, making up their own jokes, and they never got mad about it or anything, they just made it their thing. But at the same time, we could all tell how much they enjoyed being there with our crazy group.” I laughed at that a little. That was definitely something we’d done. The whole family is so close, and they don’t actually try to leave people out, but they have all these things that you just can’t possibly get if you’re not  _ one of them. _ So it became a kind of game, us making up our own ‘inside jokes’ on the spot whenever they got into their family bubble, sometimes bringing the kids over to our side, other times being far too ridiculous, and inappropriate, for that. 

Chris went on, throwing his free hand up in the air as he started the next sentence. “And fuckin’ Scott, man, early on, when I was younger and immature and even more of a piece of shit than I am now, when I would get questions about how I felt about his sexuality, usually just from old buddies of ours or people I was working with, not really the media, I would give these  _ awful  _ answers about how it was nice to know I never had to worry about competing with him over a girl. And yes, I know that’s a shitty answer. Him being out was relatively new, and I was immature and stupid, and at the time, it was the only thing I could think up to essentially say, ‘ _ Hey, he’s my brother and I love him and I’m totally cool with it. _ ’ Like I said, I’ve grown up a lot.” He stopped for a second, tapped his fingers on the end table then ran his hand over his face. He didn’t like what he’d just admitted about himself. “Anyway, that was the bad joke I used to make, but with this one, man, there were times I did worry he was gonna steal her from me. In a totally non-" he groaned, "you get it. I mean, Scott’s this awesome, lovable guy and he’s got a ton of friends, people are just drawn to him. But these two just connected, right off the bat. It was like that with her and my whole family, really. It’s like she’s just  _ supposed  _ to be there. The same way it had been with us, right from the beginning. For me, at least.”

I don’t think he realized that his fingers had started trailing up and down my arm where his hand hung off my shoulder. I shifted just the smallest bit closer to him and hooked one foot behind his on the floor. “And then we Skyped with her niece and some of her family and her niece called me ‘Uncle Chris,’ and I  _ died  _ man. I fuckin’ died. I mean, yeah, the title wasn’t new to me, but it was  _ her  _ niece,  _ her  _ family, and it was like,” he trailed off, grinning to himself. “Yeah, it was awesome. I mean, her niece is a sweetheart, but it wasn’t even just about that. It was more, this whole time, I’m looking at her and it really sinks in how much I want her to be part of my family, and I want to be part of hers, and I just want  _ her  _ to  _ be my _ family. I just kept thinking, ‘This,  _ this  _ is it. I’m done.’ When I thought, when I  _ think _ , about the future, she’s always right at the center of it. So New Year’s night, we’re stayin’ at my mom’s place for the night, and this one goes to bed early because she was flying back down to Virginia the next day to go back to work, and I take her to bed, kiss her goodnight, then I go back down. And I’m sitting there with my mom, across the dining room table over a beer, and I say, ‘Mom, if I haven’t married her by next Christmas, I have really fucked something up somewhere.’”

“And what did Mom say?”

He laughed. “She said, ‘You really think it’s gonna take that long?’”

“Did she give you any advice?”

“One piece. She told me not to propose on Valentine’s Day. She said she loved that her kids were corny, but we weren’t allowed to be cliches.” They both laughed at that one, but I stayed quiet.

“And … you followed that? I’m guessing?”

“I did.”

“Good job, Mom.”

He nodded, eyebrows raised, and lifted his hand off the arm of the couch. “Good job Mom.”

“O-oh no!” Ms. Green turned toward me, either to get a response to everything Chris had just said or to ask me her next question, I’m not sure, but she stopped abruptly when her eyes landed on my face. A handful of tears had made their way out of the corners of my eyes and down my cheeks and I was staring at the ceiling, hoping to make them stop. My cheeks burned and I knew from past experience that my nose was bright pink. “Are you okay, hon? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

I closed my eyes and shook my head, lowering it to look at her once I felt I could speak without my voice cracking. “You didn’t, he did.” I nudged Chris’s side with my elbow and he looked down at me, his eyes wide and scared. I brought one hand, the one closer to him, to the top of his thigh and squeezed and reached across my body with the other to rest my palm on his opposite cheek. “No, but it’s good - it’s good tears! I’m sorry babe, I just … I don’t know what I expected you to say, but it wasn’t that. I - that was - my heart’s just kind of working overtime right now. Thank you. For that.”

He dropped his forehead to mine. “Love you.”

“Love you back.” I pulled back and shook my head, forcing a smile and a light laugh. “Gah. Okay, sorry about that. You can go back to doing your job now.”

“Oh man,” she grimaced, “I feel a little bit like a voyeur or something now. I feel like these are moments I’m not supposed to see”

“No, really, it’s fine. I cry basically at the drop of a hat.”

“It’s true. She does.” Chris lifted the hand that was still drawing patterns over my arm and tickled behind my ear until I swatted him away.

“Please, go ahead,” I told her. “Didn’t you say you had one question for each of us?”

“It’s really okay.”

“No, no. Please, I’m good. Let’s do it.” I felt bad that I’d made her uncomfortable and I certainly didn’t want to mess up her interview, which was just her trying to do her job, because of it. That was especially true because she’d been so kind, and, from what I could tell in the relatively short time I’d been in the interview, respectful of the boundary between Chris’s professional life and his personal one. He’d been the one to make the choice to expand that boundary for her, and I trusted that he knew what he was doing.

“Okay.” She sighed, “Well … you’re in almost the opposite situation. You  _ have _ been married before. For quite a while, if I understood correctly from the film.”

“Twelve and a half years,” I nodded.

“Oh my god. What did you do, get married at 15?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she gasped and covered it with her hand. Chris stifled a laugh, biting his lips. “Sorry! That was meant to be a compliment! I just-you don’t seem,  _ look _ , old enough to have been married for that long, and then for even a few more years to have passed since.”

I waved her off, one hand up and palm out toward her. “You’re fine, really. Umm, we did start dating when I was 15, actually. Then dated for most of the next almost seven years, with a, uh, brief detour in there because we were kids and had some growing up to do. Umm, then we got married shortly before my 22nd birthday. So yeah, we were basically babies, even then, but especially by 2022 standards.”

“Wow.” She nodded, probably thinking the whole thing was a little insane. People don’t really get married at 22 anymore. She looked to be about my age, mid-30s, and she wasn’t wearing a ring (which, okay, didn’t  _ necessarily  _ mean anything, because as of that moment I was engaged and wasn’t wearing one either). “But I mean, it seems like it was a successful marriage.”

“It was. Twelve and a half years is great.” It would never not hurt that my first husband had died far too soon and in a tragic way. But after just over two years I was starting to be able to look back and actually appreciate the happy memories without being drowned by that pain. And Chris encouraged that, which definitely helped. I smiled a little, appreciating the time I’d had. “And they were. Great.”

“So, how does that factor in with the two of you?” she motioned at Chris and me with her pen. “Like I mentioned, you’re kind of coming in with the opposite relationship experiences from those that Chris has had. How did that impact your perspective coming into this?”

“Um, well, like you said, we’re coming from very different places, in a lot of ways.” In every way, really; he was nothing I’d ever expected. “But the thing is” I sighed and stopped to think for a second, “okay. I’ve always been the ‘too much’ girl. I’m too loud, too energetic, I care too much, I  _ talk  _ too much, I get too invested, I take things too personally. And for most of my life, that’s separated me from pretty much everyone around me. Classmates, co-workers, whatever. I’m just a lot to deal with, and I get that.” I tried to keep my tone light so as not to sound self-pitying or like I was asking for  _ her  _ pity. It had definitely bothered me when I was younger, but at some point, somewhere in my late-20s or early-30s, I had come to realize that I may not attract the largest crowds, but the people I did have in my small circle were loving and loyal and far more valuable than a giant group of superficial friends. I was good with who I was and what that meant for me. That didn’t mean, though, that having Chris come along and embrace all those ‘too much’ things about me wasn’t a welcome and joyful surprise.

“But with Chris, I’ve never felt ‘too much.’ Of anything. From the beginning, I never felt like I was overwhelming him, or like he was trying to put distance between us, or like he had to ‘deal with’ me at all. If anything, he was the one pulling me back in when I started to freak out and second-guess myself. And not only have I never felt like I have to temper myself for him, he’s maybe the only person I’ve ever known in my life who cares as much, who invests himself as fully, who  _ loves  _ as  _ fiercely _ as I do. And to be on the receiving end of that love? Oh my god. There are no words. And I love words, so that’s saying a lot.”

The room went quiet when I stopped talking, and stayed that way for a few beats longer than was comfortable for me. Finally, Ms. Green broke the silence. “Wow,” she breathed.

“I’m sorry, my answer’s not as good as his. Did I even actually answer your question? I don’t think I did.”

“No, that was … that was pretty phenomenal. I don’t know if you answered the question either, but that was a great answer nonetheless. I’ll take it. Chris, what did you think about it?”

He just kind of stared down at me. “I think it’s my turn to cry now.”

“Stop.” I rolled my eyes and pushed against him so that my shoulder nudged under his arm.

“You think I’m joking? You know I cry.”

“I do.” I smiled softly up at him and he reached across me to cup my jaw in his palm, the pad of his thumb running across my cheekbone. He had either momentarily forgotten that we had company or he didn’t care, because he leaned in to kiss me, his hand sliding across my jaw until he cradled the back of my head, fingers combing through my hair. He didn’t take it too far - he parted his lips then closed them both around my bottom one, but didn’t use his tongue at all - but it felt intimate and powerful nonetheless. I let my eyes stay closed for a second once he pulled away, only opening them once I heard his voice, loud and clear and directed across the room.

“Sorry, pda.”

“Hey, don’t apologize, it’s your house.” The blush on her cheeks gave away that she wasn't being completely honest with her words and her tone. “And speaking of, I think I’ve got everything I need, so I can let you have your living room back now.” She began to gather her things, shuffling her recorder and her notepad and pen into her bag then standing, and Chris and I both followed her lead. “Thank you, both, so much. This was absolutely amazing.” She crossed the room with her hand out, shaking his briskly and professionally but squeezing mine a little extra at the end and adding a sweet smile. “I mean, you’ve given me a great opportunity, professionally, but even more than that I’ve just loved spending this time with the two of you. You’re just - it makes me happy, joyful, to be around you.”

Chris led all of us to the front door. “Well, thank you for everything. It’s been great. Probably my most enjoyable interview yet.”

“While that’s great to hear, I don’t think I can take credit for that.” She cast a sideways glance my way and smirked. I laughed a little, almost embarrassed, and dropped my head to look at our feet.

“Eh. You get some of the credit, surely. I mean hey, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable bringing her out here if you weren’t good at your job.” He was so good with people, so good at making them feel welcome and valuable. I loved that.

“Thanks,” she nodded once, quickly, grinning, “I’ll take it. I hope you two have a great rest of your night, and uh, good luck with, you know,  _ everything _ .” We all laughed. She was clearly talking about the wedding, but it sounded so much more clandestine. “Maybe the next time I see you, you’ll have new titles?”

“I think there’s a pretty good chance of that.” Chris smiled, nodding, as he held the door for her as she stepped out onto the front steps. "Have a good one.”

“It was great to meet you,” I added.

“You too.” She stepped torward me until she was halfway back in the house and dropped a hand to my forearm. “And thank you so much for your time and for everything you shared with me. You didn’t have to do any of this, so I really, truly appreciate it.”

“Absolutely.” I pulled my arm back just enough to wrap my fingers around hers, “It was a pleasure. Have a good night. Drive safe!”

I waved as Chris pushed the door closed behind her with his right hand, his left arm wrapped around my waist. As soon as the door clicked shut, he used that left arm to pull me abruptly against him, lifting me onto my toes in the process. All I managed to get out was a squeaked, “Oh!” before his lips were on mine. He kept his free hand flat against the door and it was almost as if he was using it for leverage, because he pushed into the kiss until I was bent backward at the waist, my hands gripping the neck of his henley for balance.

He pulled away after several long seconds, leaving me to draw in a long, deep breath. “You’re amazing, you know that?” He brought the hand on my hip up to tuck the hair over my ear on that same side as he turned us to move back toward the main part of the house. “Did you mean that?"

"Well,” I wrapped both arms around his waist and looked up at him as we walked, propping my chin just below his shoulder and letting him guide me through the house. “I didn’t say  _ anything  _ I didn’t mean or that wasn’t true, but what, specifically, are you referring to?"

He stopped us right at the point where the foyer, the living room, and the hall all met and lowered his hand back to my hip. "About me loving fiercely."

"Yeah. 100%.” I reached up and curled my hand around the side of his neck. “You amaze me. The way you love, amazes me. And that somehow, for some reason, that gets to be me? I honestly can't comprehend it most days.” I was so caught up in what I was saying and the way his eyes focused on mine as I talked that I didn’t realize until the last second that he was bending at both the knees and the waist. He kept his left arm around my waist and scooped the right one behind my knees, quite literally sweeping me off my feet. “Oh my goodness! You know this is traditionally done  _ after  _ the wedding, right?” I scolded once he had me nestled against his chest, my arms draped over his shoulders to wrap around his neck.

“Whatever, close enough. We’ve got some business to take care of. A little ... contract sealing, if you will.” He carried me down the hall to the bedroom and stopped in front of his dresser. “Top drawer, under your new pjs -”

“Aww,” I wrapped my arms a little tighter around his neck, “you got me pjs?” I reached into the drawer to finger the fabric. “Ooh! And they’re so soft!”

“Really  _ not  _ the point here, babe.” He rolled his eyes then dropped his head so that his forehead hit my temple. “Under the pjs, grab the box.” His head flew up, eyes narrowed, “And don’t you  _ dare  _ open it.”

“Okay okay,” I pretended to be defensive as I fished around under the silky material in the drawer. Finally, my hand closed around the leather box. “Got it.”

“Yeah?”

I pulled the box out and held it up in front of him. “Right here.” 

“Okay.” He nodded and walked us to the bed, sitting on what I assumed, based on the way we always slept at my house and in Boston, would be my side. “Baby.” He paused for a second, settling me across his lap and taking the box from my hand before wrapping his arms loosely around me until his hands crossed at the wrists and hung off the side of my left thigh. “My beautiful girl. A few days ago I looked at you, and there was no doubt in my mind that I absolutely want to spend the rest of my life with you, so I decided to wing it. And now, I want to-to finish what I started then. So,” he took a long breath and opened the box with as little fanfare as is possible with an engagement ring box, “I know you already said yes, but I just want to make it even more officially official. I saw this ring and I knew, I  _ knew _ I had to give it to you, to put it on your finger. Can I please do that now?”

“Please, please do.” The fingers of my right hand dug into his shoulder where my arm was looped around his neck and I held my left hand gingerly out in front of us.

He pulled the ring from the velvet cushions holding it in place in the box and slid it onto my finger - the same finger that had worn at least one ring consistently for almost 15 years, then had gone bare for just over the past year. He turned to press his lips to my cheek, just in front of my ear, then whispered, his lips moving across my skin, “Look at that. Perfect fit.”

***

I prefer the right side of the bed, but I’m a left-side sleeper, in terms of which side of my body I most often find myself curled up on. What tends to happen more often than not, when I have the luxury of sleeping next to Chris, is that I start on my right side with him curled around me - the big spoon to my little one - but he falls asleep incredibly quickly and typically rolls onto his back in his sleep. That’s when I usually move onto my left side so I can fall asleep myself, often with my hands tucked under my pillow or around his arm and my face pressed into his shoulder.

I woke the morning after his - our? -  _ Esquire  _ interview on my left side, as usual, hugging a spare pillow to my chest with my right arm and my left arm stretched across the unusually wide gap between us. I did feel his skin, though, the smooth, soft skin on the inside of his bicep, under that hand as I drifted into consciousness. And on the top of my hand, his thumb rubbed back and forth lightly over my knuckles while his fingers curled around my wrist. I groaned quietly and stretched my entire body, aside from that left hand and arm, just a little, just to help pull myself out of sleep. When I opened my eyes I saw him across the king sized bed, turned onto his side and propped up on the arm under my hand, watching his thumb move across my knuckles.

“It looks a lot better there than it did in the box,” he told me, quietly, without looking up.

I left my palm on his arm but stretched my fingers up until I could see my new hardware. “Feels good there too.” His thumb stilled on the back of my hand and he moved his other hand to the top of my head as he leaned over to press his lips into my temple.

“Then I guess that’s where it belongs,” he murmured against my skin before pressing his lips firmly against me again then dropping his head down onto his arm so we were nose-to-nose. “But are you sure -”

“Oh my god!” I whined, rolling onto my back and dropping the pillow I’d been holding off the edge of the bed as I brought my right arm up and over my eyes. “Stop. I mean it.” I dropped my arm to my side and turned my head on the pillow to look back over at him. 

“I just want to be sure it’s perfect, because if it’s not -”

“Chris,” he squinted back at me, “why did you choose this ring?”

“Because,” he stopped, drew in a long, deep breath, and pushed it back out his nose. “When I saw it, it just - it  _ felt  _ like you.” 

“Because it  _ is  _ me.” I slipped my left hand out from under his and bent my arm at the elbow to hold my hand - and my ring - up in the air between us. We were both quiet for a second as we looked at the ring, a 2-carat emerald-cut sapphire surrounded by a diamond halo, all raised high above a band accented with pave-set diamonds, leaving room for a matching band to nestle just below it. “And yet, in spite of that,” I turned my head and grinned over at him, wrinkling my nose, “it still manages to be unimaginably perfect.”

He rolled his eyes and reached up to capture my hand in his own, bringing it first to his lips, then tucking it against his chest. “But are you sure it’s okay that it’s not a diamond?”

“Psht, there are plenty of diamonds on there.”

“Babe.”

I groaned and rolled onto my side, pushing my right hand between his left arm and his chest so that, with the exception of his right arm, which was still under his head, his fingers combing through my hair, our arms were pretzeled into a knot between us. “Really. I mean, why should diamonds have the monopoly on engagement rings? There’s not a diamond ring you could show me that I would trade this one for. And that’s  _ not  _ just because this is the one you chose for me, although that in and of itself makes it amazing. But we could go to 100 jewelry stores and look at 1,000 rings -”

“Oh god, please no,” he drew his eyebrows together and widened his eyes and, if I didn’t know what a good actor he was, I might think he was actually going to cry. I only rolled my eyes at him and kept going.

“- _ but,  _ I would still choose this one every time. Like you said, it’s just me. I mean,” I added quickly, “I’d have been equally happy with it if it had been smaller, just so we’re clear on that part, but everything else, the design, and yes, the stone, is absolutely perfect. If I had designed my dream ring, this would have been it.”

I didn’t say anything else, just watched his face relax as he accepted what I was saying. When he went back to brushing his thumb over my knuckles, bumping the bottom of the ring with each pass, I used my right hand, still wedged between his arm and his chest, to push him onto his back and climbed over him. My left hand slid from his as he rolled over, but as soon as he was on his back and I was settled on his waist, my knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his ribs and my ass resting on his lower abs, just above the waistband of his boxer briefs, I threaded the fingers of both hands through his and lifted his hands to rest on his pillow, just above his head.

“Hmm,” he lifted an eyebrow as he looked up at me hovering over him, “whatcha doin’ up there?”

“Well,” I leaned down to kiss one side of his neck, just under his ear, “all this serious talk and I realized, we haven’t even had a proper good morning yet.”

“No?”

“Nope.” I moved to kiss him in the same spot on the other side.

“Oh, well I guess we need to fix that, huh?” He let his head loll to the side.

“We do.” I kissed my way down his neck, nipping lightly with my teeth right where his neck met his shoulder. He pulled his hands from mine and brought them to my waist, running them lightly up my back so that his fingertips just grazed my skin and pushed up the silky cami that was one half of the new pajamas he’d bought me, flattening his hands against me but maintaining his light, gentle touch when he reached my shoulder blades.

I was pretty sure he believed me about how much I loved my ring, but just to be safe, I made sure that my  _ good morning  _ was thorough enough that any lingering doubts were the furthest thing from his mind by the time we finally made it out of bed for coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> All pieces in this collection will be an anthology of connected one-shots that exist within the same universe; and they officially no longer follow chronological order. They may eventually be reorganized into novel-format, but that would be quite a way down the road.


End file.
